It Wasn't Their Fault
by E.C.loves.Sirius.Black
Summary: The signs were all there, but none of them realized it. They should have. Warnings: AU, Abusive!Dursleys  non-graphic , and Character Death. No Pairings. Please Read and Review! :D


**Note: 7-8-12 ~ I changed my screen name from _E. C. luvs twilight _to the much more appropriate _E. C. loves. Sirius. Black _(minus the spaces).**

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**A/N:This randomly came into my head during study hall at school, so I wrote it while I was supposed to be doing my homework. :D**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, Sirius, Fred, Remus, and Tonks wouldn't have died.  
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It wasn't Molly Weasley's fault, but she could have assumed.

Of course, she knew they didn't feed him enough. The boy was tiny. Incredibly scrawny for a boy of fifteen. Obviously, it was a bit suspicious when he lost a stone every summer. But then again, his cousin was on a diet – good thing, too, because that child was as big as a whale. If he was forced to follow it too, then of course he would lose weight over the summer. He gained it back soon enough – almost too quickly to be natural, actually. When he ate so much that he was sick the first day at her house over the summer, she assumed it was just the norm for teenage boys. There wasn't any need to go and blame the Dursleys of anything.

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It wasn't Poppy Pomfrey's fault, but she could have tried harder.

When he came to her with no bones in his right arm, she cast a customary charm to check the condition of his entire skeleton. When she noticed several bones that had been broken repeatedly, she did a form of Legilimency that would tell her how he broke one of his bones. With the bad luck that tended to follow the boy, she chose his left arm. She watched the memory as a tiny, innocent-looking black-haired boy was pushed down the stairs by an extremely obese boy that seemed to be a bit older. She gasped as the boy fell and crashed into an ugly vase, which shattered on impact. As a horse-faced woman shrieked and ran to crouch over the boy, Poppy left the memory, satisfied. She couldn't have known, of course, that Petunia was crouching over her precious vase. If she had stayed for another minute, she would have seen the_ slap _that the barely conscious 5-year-old boy felt with a stinging clarity. She would have heard the whispered threats of _you little freak how dare you that was my favorite vase just wait until your uncle gets home now go to your cupboard and stay there boy_. But she left, and she didn't watch any other memories.

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It wasn't Severus Snape's fault, but he should have known.

When the boy came for Occlumency lessons, Snape should have noticed that ten years of the boy's life seemed to have disappeared from his mind. But as he searched the boy's mind with the intent to force him to relive painful memories, he couldn't have known that the visions of _stand aside girl _and _kill the spare _were hiding a secret that was equally dark and disturbing. How was he to known that the foolish, reckless Gryffindor was amazingly able at hiding things? He couldn't see through glamours and he wasn't able to find the part of the boy's mind that Harry had subconsciously labeled _the cupboard under the stairs_.

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It wasn't Ron Weasley's fault, but he shouldn't have always believed.

When Ron was eleven years old, he couldn't be blamed for believing his new best friend's every excuse. Why was he eating the candy as if he hadn't eaten in days? _I just didn't have breakfast. I couldn't eat, I was too nervous. _Why did he always take a shower before everyone else was up? Why did he get dressed in the bathroom? Why did he wear long sleeved and trousers even at night, when the heat was nearly unbearable? _Sorry, I'm shy. Everyone seems to know me here, and it's putting me on edge. Give me a while and I'll open up more. _Of course, when the boy suddenly gained some weight and started to act normal, Ron forgot about the entire ordeal, and never questioned his friend again.

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It wasn't Hermione Granger's fault, but she should have trusted herself.

At thirteen years old, Hermione still hadn't really seen much darkness in the world. There was no reason for her to suspect the darkness of some people. For all of her brains, she was truly naïve sometimes. So she was concerned, but not overly suspicious when she saw a dark bruise on her friend's throat. She asked him about at once, but didn't notice how he looked panicked for just a second before telling her that she must be imagining things. He walked away before she could ask him anything else. The next time she saw him, the bruise was gone as if it never existed. Perhaps it was just her imagination, or maybe it was the shadows. Either way, she soon assumed that it mustn't have been real. After all, she didn't know how angry Vernon got when his sister was inflated like a balloon.

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It wasn't George Weasley's fault, but he should have questioned.

As Fred drove the old car through the sky, George turned and grinned at the boy he had just rescued from his bloody idiotic Muggle relatives. He asked him about the bars on the window. _It's nothing. The Dursleys only planned on having one child, so that room was turned into a storage room when they first bought the house. _Fred and Ron easily accepted this excuse, but George knew better. Fred may have been the mastermind of most of their pranks, but George was the one who made up the excuses. They would have been in twice as many detentions in he left the lying up to Fred. That's why he knew that it was only an excuse. Those emerald green eyes showed that the boy was covering something up. He just let it go, though, because he didn't know that the smallest bedroom on 4 Privet Drive was a jail cell.

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It wasn't Fred Weasley's fault, but he should have told.

George was examining the Muggle things in the kitchen while Fred went to pick the lock on the cupboard under the stairs. Fred heaved the truck out, and then stepped into the small cupboard to make sure nothing was missing. He turned on a small light so that he could see the whole cupboard. From the kitchen, George saw Fred step in, and he took the opportunity to close the door and lock it again. Fred swore and gritted his teeth as he heard George laughing quietly on the other side of the door. Resigned to stay in the cupboard for a while, Fred leaned back, and at that moment he spotted a piece of paper that was taped to the wall above the door. There were only two words written on it, but those two words written in red crayon with the handwriting of a young child chilled him to the bone. _Harry's Room._And suddenly, Fred felt the small place close in tighter and felt like he was choking. He hissed at George to let him out, and he carried the trunk up the stairs. Fred was uneasy, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything. Besides, the boy had a room now, so what did it matter? Nothing could be done about it now. Fred couldn't have known about the years of _please let me out it's dark and cold I'm scared and I can't breathe I'm hungry I need to use the loo please let me out I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry._

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It wasn't Albus Dumbledore's fault, but he shouldn't have trusted in the love of a family.

In the early hours of November 1st, 1981, Albus was faced with the choice of where to place the newly-dubbed Boy-Who-Lived. Black, the traitor, was who Lily and James wanted to care for him, but that choice was obviously out of the question. Their second option was Peter Pettigrew, who had disappeared last night in search of Sirius. Alice and Frank Longbottom also would have taken custody of the boy, but they were currently in St. Mungo's for an undetermined amount of time – most likely permanently. Remus Lupin asked to care for his honorary godson, but of course that was illegal, given Remus' condition. Albus decided that, anyway, it would be better for the new young celebrity to grow up in the Muggle world, out of the prying eyes of the wizarding public, so that he didn't become arrogant and over confident. The perfect solution came to him – Lily's sister, Petunia, and her husband, Vernon. He vaguely recalled Petunia having a dislike for magic, but she must've loved her sister and her nephew by default. Sure of his decision, Albus wrote a letter explaining the events of Halloween night. Later, accompanied by Minerva and Hagrid, Albus left little Harry Potter on the doorstep of his relative's home. He abandoned him to fate while trusting blindly in an aunt's love.

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No, it wasn't anyone's fault but the Dursleys', and not a single one of them could have known.

Nevertheless, when Harry didn't write any letters for three days, each and every one of them felt a feeling of uneasiness and apprehension. When Ron suggested that they go check up on Harry, they all readily agreed. They arrived on Privet Drive, and everything was calm and peaceful. As they entered number 4, no shouts filled the air. There was no sound of violence or hatred, only of the slumbering Muggles. Many gave a mental sigh of relief, but they couldn't quite shake the feeling that something was terribly, horribly wrong.

With his wand drawn and a muttered _Lumos_, Albus led the way up the stairs to the smallest bedroom.

Inside the room was the emaciated body of Harry Potter.

Perhaps it would have been better, or maybe worse, had blood covered the walls and injuries covered the body. But somehow the way it was made it sadder and more pitiful. From the state of the body, he had died alone, locked up and forgotten in the tiny bedroom. He was pale and starved-looking, and had very few visible injuries. But he was most definitely dead.

Days passed, or maybe weeks, no one knew. Petunia and Vernon were in Azkaban for life for child abuse, neglect, and murder. In the trial, Veritaserum forced them to tell about how Vernon forced Harry to write letter upon letter immediately after arriving home from Hogwarts. They sent the letters out every three days, so as not to raise suspicions. Vernon beat "the Freak", as they called Harry, a little bit the first few days. Eventually they just locked Harry in his room. According to Petunia, they just forgot him. He stopped making noise after a few days.

Dudley Dursley was still a minor, so he was sent to St. Brutus' for three years. Eventually he got out, and he moved back into 4 Privet Drive. He didn't stay long. He thought the house was haunted. At night, he would hear crying coming from the cupboard under the stairs, and whenever he walked past the smallest bedroom, the bars on the window would begin to shake, as though something was trying to get out.

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**A/N: So, did you like it? I think it was okay. Constructive criticism is appreciated. Flames are not. Nice reviews are begged for. :)**

**Please review!**

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